


Deadeye Cafe

by gnomeicecream



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anxiety, Dissociative Episode, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, McCree has an aesthetic, coffee shop AU, everyone gets a cameo, ptsd episode, shimadas have issues, spicyness to come in later chapters, there will be pining and snark, your favs as bakery goods
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2018-09-11 05:30:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8956315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gnomeicecream/pseuds/gnomeicecream
Summary: You might be thinking that Deadeye is an odd name for a little coffee shop cum bakery in such a yuppity part of town, and you’d be right for the most part. The thing is when I opened it this area was filled with boarded up stores. That’s why I could afford to buy the old building outright with my discharge settlements. Down one arm, up one fine establishment. Jesse McCree, at your service.





	1. Deadeye, Death Blossom and Pulse Bomb

  


You might be thinking that Deadeye is an odd name for a little coffee shop cum bakery in such a yuppity part of town, and you’d be right for the most part. The thing is when I opened it this area was filled with boarded up stores. That’s why I could afford to buy the old building outright with my discharge settlements. Down one arm, up one fine establishment. Jesse McCree, at your service.

Best decision of my life, though it took a while to get everything up to snuff. Tear down rotting walls, put in new pipes, learn what goes into running a business and keeping it legal. Putting out a few fires, metaphorical and literal. I’ll admit that I splurged a bit more then I could afford putting in a complete kitchen, but seeing as how I lived in one of the two apartments upstairs it seemed like an investment. The whole east wall is a big window out onto the main street set up with a counter and high wooden stools. It runs parallel to the ‘bar’ that takes up the west wall, with real wood tables set up in between. I have an aesthetic.

First year it was just me and a bunch of part timers that never stuck around too long. There were months when I never stepped foot outside, and my feet never stopped hurting, and I gained forty pounds from stress eating leftover stock. Lena was the first to stay, bless her. With her up front, I can get into the kitchen even in the middle of the day to restock anything we ran out of. I even started taking one day off a week. Then the new college went up, and it was like being back to square one. On one hand (and I only got one hand), business doubled, then tripledbut Lena threatened to quit if I didn’t get more staff and I think I might have cried. We put up a flyer at the new school and that’s when we got Hana, Lucio, Genji, Satya and Winston.

Winston saved us from going under that year. He was actually one of the teachers at the college looking to make some extra cash. Apparently, what they pay adjunct faculty is only a hair shy of actually criminal. But he had a head on his shoulders and took over a lot of the managing that I was only getting by with. He also got us up to speed on all of the taxes I hadn’t even known about before the IRS got involved, and computerized all the record keeping.

Years three through six saw the neighborhood get, in Lucio’s fine opinion, “gentrified as fuck”. Genji and Hana graduated but stayed on while trying to make it big in e-sports which is apparently a thing. Lucio has another year of classes, but he’s been putting on live music in addition to his shift that he says he’ll keep on doing even once he finishes. Things get busier, people come and go, and it’s alright.

I haven’t been on a date since sometime during year four. He was a customer, pretty regular. Tipped well. Then suddenly didn’t return my calls and stopped coming in, and that was that. And its fine. If I wanted company, all I got to do is go downstairs and there is Lena, making a sarsaparilla cappuccino for her girlfriend. Or Hana running three machines at once and taking a line from out the door to gone in under five minutes. Or I can just strike up a conversation with a customer for some variety. Really, its fine. Just dandy. Everyone and my ma can stop asking.

Then there’s this asshole. Hanzo Shimada. Genji’s brother and some kind of weird son of a bitch with a chip on his shoulder that is almost as big as his ego. He comes in one day telling Genji that he is wasting his life in “a rundown parody of a saloon bakery,” and he was going to taking him home. Genji told him no. I told the fire department that I wasn’t pressing charges, and that it had all been an accident. Genji moved into the other apartment above the shop so I could keep an eye on him cause “no Jesse I am not joking do you know what it is my family does” Hanzo was going to have him kidnapped. So now the only way that Hanzo can get Genji to talk to him is by coming into the shop while he is on shift. I think he likes it, in some weird way. It shows he cares? Whatever. He does not get the family discount. That’ll learn him to insult a man’s livelihood.

The farm, the military, and finally the bakery have me in the habit of being up before the sunrise, though I never have learned to like it. At 5 AM I set the ovens to warm while I check over inventory and the specials of the day. Dead Eye, Death Blossom and Pulse Bomb mini cakes, scones and cupcakes. Going over the special orders I see we need two three-layer cream cakes for pick up, a sheet cake for an on-location party, and four dozen muffins for the office a few buildings down. I set the ‘filler’ muffins, cookies, scones, and cakes to be ready to come out by opening time at 6 then prep enough to be popped into the oven throughout the day as this or that sells out. I hear Genji begin to stir upstairs and his television turn on. I’m putting out cellophane covered plates into the first display case when Reinhardt gets in with a chime of the door bells.

“Morning, Don Quixote!”

“Good morning, friend. It is going to be a marvelous day outside today.” I left the front to him after he got finished putting his things away in the staff office. He used to be a regular up until a particularly busy Saturday when a customer started being nasty about the slow service and Rein popped up like a hero. Not only getting the jerk to back down but taking over the floor from Lucio. I offered him a job on the spot, though he only works Saturdays and Sundays. I think he just enjoys the company.

Then it’s into the thick of it once it gets past 8 and the early coffee crowd begins to mix with the breakfast crowd, and it’s all hands-on deck in the front. Genji makes it down around the same time Lena arrives, both a little behind the start of an unexpected rush. There is no stopping to breathe as lunch comes and goes, and shows no signs of letting up as dinner time rolls around. Genji eats lunch standing, then dives back in. Lena gets cut at 2 out of necessity because there isn’t a thing we are not running out of. Hana has arrived to cover for her and I have been running between the kitchen and front nonstop and fuck but I need to hire some more people.

“Fuck, but I need to hire some more people.”

“Is that so? Then I would like an application, please.”

“Genji holy fuck call an exterminator! There’s a rat on the premises!”

“Really, Mr. McCree, there is no need to be rude. I have offered to help you.” Hanzo must be here for his daily stalking. Genji waves happily and starts making a chai latte. Shimadas.

“I know why you’re here. I don’t see any reason to make it easier for you to harass one of my employees.” I make a shooing motion, ‘cause there is a line forming again and Genji zips past to give his brother his latte. Alongside one of the last of the special pastries, so now I need to make more of those and what was I even doing before I was-

Hanzo hands his drink back to Genji in exchange for his apron. What? Genji sits down at a table, plain exhausted. I feel the first stirrings of guilt.

“Now hold on a minute here--“

“Mr. McCree, do you not have baking to see to in the back? If I need any assistance, I am sure my brother will be able to provide it.”

I open my mouth. Huff. Genji licks the lime filling out of his Pulse Bomb.

“You haven't heard the last of this!” I say.

Hanzo expertly foams a tin of steamed milk and says nothing.

At least I got the last word in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pulse Bomb: Blueberry scone with lime cream filling  
> Death Blossom: Death by chocolate cupcake with pepper flakes  
> Deadeye: Agave cream cheese cornflour buttercake


	2. Transcendence, Earthshatter, and Dragonblade

 

My temporary living conditions in the States are tolerable on most days. The small amount of money I had been allotted for the trip had been enough for three months’ rent in an apartment, with basic furnishings made available by itinerant students, and food for the first few weeks. This trip was not supposed to take any longer than that. Go to the States, collect your brother, come home. It has now been five months and the money has run out. Having learned their lesson the first time, my parents refuse to send more.

 

Oddly, finding ways to spend my time is far more challenging then creating a budget and sticking to it. My favorite entertainments are now out of reach. No new books, no nights of quiet dinners out and drinking, no new games or streaming services. I spend a shameful amount of time catching Pokémon at the stops around town waiting for the appropriate time to go visit my brother at work. More than once a day and the scraggly dog who runs the establishment starts barking. Too early and Genji will be too busy to speak with me. It is a stunning sight to see him working industrially, even if the job itself is completely below him. I wonder where he learned the humility necessary. Idleness is not something I am used to, but I am at an impasse. I cannot go home alone, and Genji will not go.

 

But the money will not hold. No amount of thrifty shopping will make the bills any smaller, and the prepaid rent has run out. Going home in failure is a gut churning prospect that I have considered. Father will be angry, and I would bow my head and listen as my numerous shortcomings are brought up; challenged. I will promise, again and again, to do better but it will take hours and multiple tongue lashings before that humiliation will be done. Mother will be disappointed, and lay all of Genji’s failures upon me. So. I will need to find employment despite not having a worker’s visa, or find some other means of making money.

 

Luckily, the source of my troubles has already provided one solution to the problems he is creating. McCree, the owner of the Deadeye Cafe, has never asked after Genji’s documentation. It is likely he does not know he ought to. It is a fool’s luck that his mismanagement has not yet caused his business to go under, but one can hope. He offers too many specials with unique ingredients, making for poor cost to sale ratios, is loud and overly friendly with customers, and has the most ridiculous decor that is matched by what only he thinks is an outfit. That hat cannot adhere to health code. He violates his own policy by refusing to extend Genji’s family benefits to me. Not that I care, but money for food is a concern and it would be a lessening of a burden.

 

All that, and I must convince him to give me a job. Genji and I discuss the matter over the phone on a Thursday where he is not working until the afternoon.

 

“Aw, Jesse-san isn’t bad at all, Nii-san! He is just a bit casual, and you did set fire to his kitchen.”

 

“I did not set fire to his kitchen, you left your apron on a hot stove. And he is that bad. Even his beard is trying to escape his face.”

 

Genji giggles, and the sounds of puttering around a kitchen filter in through the phone. “Ok, so we really do need more people, right? But if you just go in and demand that he hire you, you’ll get his back up and he’ll shoot his own nose off to spite his face, which is a perfectly handsome and agreeable face when you aren't involved.”

 

“So I need to ask him for a job, without asking.”

 

“Yeah! Well, no, I said to not demand. Be nice about it. Wait, this is you. Ok. So. We got to spring a trap. I have an idea!”

 

Which is how I found myself in the Deadeye Cafe at 8 on a Saturday. Genji had worked something he called a “double” which meant he worked the same 8 hours as most people but he complained about it. The crowds were about what we had expected. The plan was simple. Just start working. Genji has offered to sacrifice several of his shifts to this purpose, and after the current two-week schedule is done, I should be added into the rotation.

 

“And you’ll be making tips the whole time, so you don’t have to worry about getting your hourly sorted until Winston makes you official!”

 

So far, everything is going according to plan. I know what goes into most drinks from being a customer and my home espresso machine. For those that I do not, there is a plastic three ring binder filled with instructions in the coffee bean storage cabinet. A spreadsheet with the other employees’ schedules and numbers is tucked into the plastic facing on one side. Well. I knew it was an ineptly run business, that was what I was counting on, but every one of these people is being paid overtime.

 

“No foam latte with soy and peppermint and a Death Blossom.”

 

“Of course, that will be 9.93.”

 

“Nii-san, we’re out of Death Blossoms!”

 

“Oh, I guess it’s kinda late. How about a Pulse Bomb?”

 

Genji sticks the last piece of the last one into his mouth.

 

“I apologize. We are also out of those but the owner is currently making more if you wanted to wait?”

 

“Mmm. Nah, I’ll just take one of these,” the customer takes a wrapped cookie out of a basket near the register. Those, too, are nearly gone. “And the drink.”

 

“Genji! How am I supposed to sell anything if we have nothing to sell?”

 

“Relax, we’re gonna close in less than an hour. There isn’t much point in making more if its gonna just sit all night.”

 

“There must be a more economical way to stock then this. Just track the numbers of sales per item per week and make that many!”

 

“I’d love to do that! Thanks for volunteering, Hanzo!” The owner emerges from the kitchen with two filled trays in his one hand. Genji gets off his ass to clear away the old ones and wipe down crumbs.

 

“I do not see why you have--!” My observation is cut off by an elbow in my ribs. Right. I need this job. “I would be happy to put my experience at your disposal, Mr. McCree.”

 

“Uh huh. Great. Well, Winston will be here tomorrow at 10, so show up about an hour before then. You can learn how to open.” McCree makes a shooing motion and takes over the register for the late-night college crowd. Instead of dwindling, it seems to be growing as people try to beat our closing time.

 

“Have a slumber party with me, big brother! That why you won’t have to go all the way home and back!”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Oi! Didn’t I let you move in to that place so you could avoid your stalkery brother?”

 

“It’s not stalking if he’s invited!”

 

All and all, this has gone very well.

 

>>>>>>

 

I am going to murder McCree and I know how to make it look like an accident. What that buffoon called “computerized record keeping” is in fact a pile of hand written receipts with estimations on it, entered nearly verbatim into a text file! A text file! Each is saved under a specific week, but the individual days are only present on paper going back at least six years. More than two thousand individual files to sort and enter data for, and that’s before matching sold items by ingredients ordered to begin projecting for an expense account and gross margins. Thank every merciful kami, and Dr. Winston, that the employee payroll and taxes at least have been handled. I guiltless pirate a bookkeeping software and don’t look back.

 

It took three weeks just to get that far. There was no backup drive. If anything happened to the single computer running in the back office, it’d all be gone. A portable usb drive fell off the back of a truck and with it I was able to bring my day’s work home and spend my hours at the cafe on data entry. That is, when I was not being run ragged upfront by a never-ending stream of customers, which was practically always. Or being hounded by the owner who did not seem to realize that I was trying to save his business from his own lack of handling.

 

“I ain’t got time for that nonsense right now, Hanzo, get out of my kitchen!”

 

“You have not had time for this vital part of managing your business for a week and I do not appreciate being put off!”

 

“Well I don’t appreciate being henpecked while I’m-- _Out of the way Hana, hot pan_!-- trying to work--”

 

“Boss we need a manager to do an override!”

 

“ _Take my card and just do it!_ \--during a Friday afternoon rush why aren’t you out in the front doing your job!?”

 

“I would be doing my job if you would give me the things I required to do it! Here!” I slap down the empty plate I had come back with. “We are out of all three of today’s specials!”

 

“I’ve got it, here, fuck, take this!” The cupcakes from his tray are thrown haphazardly onto the old plate then topped with pineapple. There is a line of cranky customers who are going to decimate it within ten minutes anyway, so I take it back up front without complaint. But he hasn’t heard the end of this!

 

“I won’t leave tonight until you give me your recipes for cost analysis!” I call over my shoulder.

 

McCree plunges a basket of tempura covered bananas into hot oil and says nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Transcendence: Marbled lemon and vanilla cream cupcakes topped with pineapple  
> Earthshatter: Banana liquor soaked ladyfingers with strawberry crème topped with shaved dark german chocolate, garnished with cherry  
> Dragonblade: Tempura fried banana topped with whipped cream and peppermint candy  
> 


	3. Dragon Strike, Tank and Sleep Dart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmu on my tumblr, same name as here

Thank God and all the little fishes for Finals. Once you make it through that hell week of stressed students living at your tables eating you out of house and home, all the little varmints up and leave. The entire town empties out for three months. The sun shines, traffic never gets gridlocked, and we all get reacquainted with the concept of days off. Most of us. I mean, I literally live above my job. Still, it gives me time to catch up on things on the to-do list.

 

On one nice quiet Sunday Reinhardt and Satya inspect, clean, and repair the furniture. Come another slow week the racks, walk in, and dry storage all get cleared out, cleaned, inventoried, and organized by yours truly and Lena. Winston, with only one summer class to teach, is able to finish some project or another he and Hanzo had set out on. He says we’re going to be ordering our stock digitally from now on in order to automate record keeping. That just leaves one more item on the list, and to be honest, I was leaving it to last just to watch Hanzo get more and more wound up. It’s fun _and_ affordable.

 

Now that things are settling down, it’s obvious how much the stress of the job had been getting to him. I admit I could have gone a little softer on him, newbie and all, but he had a natural talent for getting my back up and seemed to have some misunderstanding about exactly who was in charge around here. He and his brother have been getting along well. There have been zero kidnapping attempts, and Genji has been making puppy eyes at me. So I decide not only to finally get to work, but come hell or high water, keep it civil. To that end, I decide to try and make nice.

 

“Looks like it’s gonna be another quiet, steady day.” It’s about a step up from commenting on the weather, which is bright and sunny with thin white clouds, but it’s a start.

 

Hanzo looks up from the espresso machine’s innards, tiny brushy cleaning wand in hand. Waits a tick. Nods. Goes back to scrubbing buildup. Ok then.

 

“You know our Tuesday afternoon regulars, the Amaris? Come in for the special. I’m gonna make a batch fresh. Ah, well, you been asking about learning the recipe, so. I guess if you want you can come and help?”

 

That got his attention. “Making each special one at a time is hardly the best method for cutting down on waste, either on ingredients or time. It would be much more efficient to simply write--”

 

“Nah ah ah. That’s not how we do things ‘round here. I couldn’t tell you the precise measurements of each one if I wanted to. I got a system.” It’s not exactly true, but it’s not all wrong either. If you decide on four cups of flour per batch and write it down, you’ll never find out if it’d be better with four and a half. I like to keep things interesting.

 

“I’ve seen what you call ‘a system’.” He has verbal air quotes down to a science, it’s kinda impressive. Doesn’t even have to use his hands.

 

“Lena, you got the front?” She waves from the stool in front of the register without looking up from her magazine.

 

Don’t tell my kitchen, ‘cause I love her, but she is ugly as hell. Stainless steel this, stainless steel that, blocky workspaces and storage up on blocky stainless steel legs. Chrome vents over black iron ovens. I wash up, see that Hanzo does the same, and get all my supplies together on the block table.

 

“Ok, so the first step is the asbusa cookie, then we make the halva paste to go on top. When I started out I used cream of wheat, but turns out that it doesn’t have the most authentic texture. Now I use semolina.” Step one is boiling some milk and butter in a double boiler. I add in semolina to that, announcing quantities as I do. Then it all goes into a big mixing bowl with sugar, coconut, yogurt, baking powder, and baking soda.

 

“What kind of yogurt is that?” Hanzo is writing all this down with a pen that works with a tablet, but the screen looks like a yellow piece of legal pad paper. Why...

 

“Just some plain ol’ Greek yogurt. I’m not sure if the fancy stuff makes it taste better, but its fancy.” After hand mixing- _yes, it is to sanitary I washed my hand_ -the dough I prep the food possessor.

 

“Ok, so for this part we put in half a cup of almonds, some butter--”

 

“Exactly how much butter?”

 

“-fuck me, like, a scoop, two tablespoons. A dash -- _HOLD UP a dash is a measurement just write down a dash!--_ of honey and hit chop for thirty seconds.” This gets used to line the pan, and I press the dough into it lightly. “Don’t press too hard or it’ll sink into the dough and you won’t get a nice crispy crust. Ok! And that’s that for now. We put this into the fridge to chill.”

 

“That was interesting. I have never done much cooking.” He is looking at the flat, yellowish dough like it just performed a neat trick. A warm feeling lights up under my breastbone. It’s a kick in the teeth to show someone something you love and have them not care, but this? This is alright.

 

“You know I didn’t used to either, not until I was older. I had to learn real quick when dad died and ma started working all the time. Made the money stretch farther to cook.” The dishes from the asbusa get set aside in the pit for washing, and I start setting up for the halva paste.

 

“We have employed a cook as far back as I can remember. It was not a skill that my parents decided I needed to learn.”

 

“You can tell a lot about someone by their relationship to the kitchen, I guess. Ok, so I just use premade tahini ‘cause I can’t really taste the difference. Throw one cup of that into a bowl with one forth a cup of this chamomile honey--” I do so as I explain “--and just a touch of salt and you’re good. I’ve started putting in chamomile petals just for the look of it, but it doesn’t affect the taste much.”

 

Hanzo takes the used dishes away and starts to wash without being asked. It’s still about forty minutes before the asbusa is gonna be ready, and thirty before I’ll want to start on the syrup. I straighten up a bit, wipe down surfaces. The bell rings up front but Lena handles the customer before I can make up my mind if I wanna go be nosy.

 

“So.” I start. Hanzo looks up from his tablet. I hadn’t gotten much farther then ‘so’ in my mind, so I cast around for a topic. “Each of the specials is special, uh. I mean, it represents someone.”

 

“Hmm. Who is this special then?”

 

“Ana Amari. I got another for her kid: the Barrage. I wanted to call Ana’s Sleep Tart, but she said it’s not a tart, so. Eh. It’s got two layers, and both have really complex, deep flavors. Sweet. Like her. I wanted her to know that I appreciate all that she’s done for me.”

 

“So it’s a way of speaking without words, through your food. It sounds like _hanakotoba_.” Hanzo puts his tablet into his apron pocket and leans against the bread drawer across the way.

 

“Gonna have to translate that for me.’

 

“Japanese flower language. There is a European concept that is similar, but many of the flower meanings and presentations are different. There are things that you can’t speak about plainly, very strong feelings. So you let an arrangement of flowers speak for you.”

 

“Hmm.” I look up at the hanging florescent lights. Pulse Bombs. Tart, fun, energetic. They were also kind of fun and easy. I wanted Lena to feel appriciated, back when it was mostly just the two of us. I didn’t have the words, but I let her name her special and it made her really happy. It’s been on the menu for years, and will be even if she leaves, her permanent mark on the place and me. “Yeah.”

 

“My brother’s is the Dragon Blade, he said.” He meets my eyes across the way and he’s smiling. I’m sure I’ve seen him do it before. Maybe. But this time he’s thinking about his idiot brother who is way too into video games and bright colors. _And hell_. That’s what love looks like on his grouchy ass face.

 

“Yep. It was his one year anniversary present. I wanted to make something that felt like home. He said he loved it, it looked like a dick covered in cream and candy.”

 

Hanzo covers his mouth when he laughs, one surprised guffaw escaping before he presses it down into quieter giggles. “Yes, that does sound like my brother.”

 

“Well, we still have about twenty minutes. I’m gonna do a bit of work.” I pull out a pad of actual paper from the office, and write down a few ideas. Rice flour maybe. Green tea. Complimentary flavors.

 

While the asbusa bakes in the oven, the syrup gets made with a dash of chamomile tea. The asbusa is pulled out and scored into squares before going back in to finish baking. When it cools it gets its halva paste topping. We put them out still hot for 6 pm tea time. The little Amari isn’t actually little anymore. She is taking the last of her high school classes at the University for double credit and is gonna graduate both early.

 

I give Ana her Sleep Dart personally, look at the white and yellow petals, and think about saying things without words.

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

 

 

Hanzo comes in every day at 5 am for a week after that, because he is crazy, and watches me make the specials. Not only does our little truce hold, we get along. My ego grows three sizes from having someone so interested in my creations and Hanzo gets his from bringing forth bureaucracy. Seeing as he was there anyway, I also put him to work making our bread and butter of scones, cookies, loafs, cakes, pies, quiches and buns. Our slow spell holds, so it’s no trouble taking our time going over each one, why each ingredient is used and in what ratios. It’s too good to last, so it doesn’t.

 

“ ‘ _In order to ensure compliance with the standards of safety set by the Food and Drug Administration, the eatery known as The Deadeye Cafe will be subject to a 100-point scale health and safety inspection on June 19_ _th_ _.’ ”_

 

“Do you think someone complained?” Lena asks. All of the employees are gathered, those who didn’t work today in their casual clothes.

 

“I just know what it says in the letter.” I answer. I am doing my best not to let on that my heart is pounding. To keep from having to answer more questions, I keep reading, “ ‘ _Any four-point deduction or a score of less than 86 will result in a C rating. Grades between 86 and 92 with no more than five risk factors will receive a B. Scores higher than 92 with no more than two risk factors will get an A_.’ They included a list of all those ‘risk factors’.”

 

I hold it up. Its double sided, with columns with titles like ‘food storage’, ‘cleanliness’, and ‘chemical management’ and more under which are even more specific entrees such as ‘mechanical dishwasher temp and chemical’, and ‘employees’ nails are short, unpolished and clean’. I look at Genji. I’m gonna lose my business. I’ll have to move back to Santa Fe in disgrace.

 

“Ok. Ok.” I feel hot and cold chills. Its hard to think. “So we just have to go over this list, and make sure we are compliant. We did ok on our last inspection.”

 

“Wasn’t that, um, in the Fall? Why are we getting another one?” Lucio asks this time and I feel my shoulders get tighter.

 

“Could just be our number came up on some randomizer.” Hana doesn’t wear her hair up like she is supposed to. Does she paint her nails? She does. I’m going to have to fire half my employees to pass and then I won’t be able to run my business--

 

“Hey, love, some deep breaths alright?” Right. Lena’s still there. She’s been through all the inspections with me before. The checklist gets snatched out of my hand.

 

“I am not familiar with the systems we have in place to remain compliant to these regulations.” I clench my jaw shut to avoid snapping. Starting to yell isn’t gonna help anybody. “We can make a daily check list, or see if there is one available online.”

 

Oh. Yeah. That’s a place to start. I nod and Hanzo has already got his tablet out. Ok.

 

“Dr. Winston, we may need to make some purchases for the business. Hairnets, gloves, thermometers. Our cleaning supplies will need to be inspected to see if their containers meet these standards.” They bend their heads together over the letter, checklist, and whatever Hanzo has pulled up on his tablet. I suddenly feel like there was something I was supposed to do, while at the same time the panic of having too much to do dims. People seem to realize the meeting is over and begin to socialize.

 

Ok.  


An impromptu party forms. Hana fires up the oven and tells me to start making pizza, so I do. The bakery case gets pillaged. People make themselves drinks and talk, and everyone gets a printout of personal hygiene rules they will be expected to start following that appears out of nowhere with only mild bitching. Hanzo sits at a table near the wall, face lit up by the glow of electronics with a half-eaten slice of pizza and a paper cup.

 

“Hey Lena, I’m popping over to the store for a second.” I say as I ditch my apron for my jacket.

 

“Sure, we’ll try not to burn the place down while you’re gone!” She says, cell phone held away from her ear.

 

I actually hit two stores on the way out to get everything I need. First is the Asian Market, ‘cause I figure they will have the closest to what I need or at least point me in the right direction. The Japanese grandma also give me some advice for my next stop at the florists.

 

Just like I expected, things are winding down by the time I get back, and Hanzo is still working. I go into the kitchen and get to work, though it’s not actually all that much. Two wafers around the mochi center. I put it on a plate, garnished with a bluebell.

 

“Hey. Hanzo.”

 

“Hmm?”

 

I set the plate down. He looks at it.

 

“So, I was thinking green tea mochi between melon and orange wafers. It’s cold in the middle, traditional with a tart side and a sweet side. And its bite sized, like you.” This sounded clever when I first thought of it, but as soon as I said it sounded backhanded.

 

Realization dawns. “It’s mine. My special,” he picks up the bluebell and holds it for a moment with both hands. I can’t see his face.

 

“Yeah. Cause.” I make a gesture that encompasses him. The tablet. The extra work. You know. All of it.

 

He looks up and he’s smiling. Damn. It looks a bit familiar and he’s really pretty when he smiles, “Your welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flower meanings:  
> Chamomile: Energy in Adversity  
> Bluebell: Constancy (western) and Gratitude (Japanese)
> 
> If you enjoy flower language, you might enjoy these two sights  
> https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/12SK10SXQWj4lhpkPG9tYbDK69x1JuuZ1ldl8Kh7Z9C8/edit#gid=0  
> and  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hanakotoba
> 
> Dragon Strike: Green tea mochi sandwiched between melon and orange waffers  
> Tank: Seeded honey bun with egg custard  
> Sleep Dart: Asbusa cookie topped with chamomile halva paste  
> 


	4. Self Destruct, RIP-Tire, and Sound Barrier

My alarm goes off at 4:30 Sunday morning. There isn’t even a hint of sunrise on the horizon, just the stars peaking out through fast moving clouds and the quiet night sounds of a town at rest. I lay in bed long enough that my alarm sounds again. After a brief argument with myself about another ten minutes, I turn it off and slink out from under the covers. After hopping into the shower to wake up, Iroot around in the pile of cleaner clothes near the dresser that are probably cleaner then the ones near the closet. I need someone in my life to get on my hide about these kind of things.

For breakfast I whip up a few burritos, one for myself and the rest for the crew when they get in. The sound of traffic begins to pick up outside, early morning church goers getting breakfast before the service. Jamison stops by, then leaves with his usual Sunday order of eight dozen assorted muffins. I tell him to pass on his best to his partner. Then its back to the ovens to get the place ready to open.

Satya comes in ten minutes early, which is barely on time in Satya reckoning. She sits up front with a cup of tea, because we have regulations now and no eating or drinking is to happen behind the counter. Oh, oops. Starting now, there isn’t. The burritos get moved, then the cases get stocked and at 6 am we open the doors to a steady tide of people. Reinhardt gets in at ten, Winston at eleven.

“Um, Jesse. I think that we have things under control here. Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? You’ve been working really hard lately.” Whats the world coming to when my employees are kicking me out of my own cafe? But Winston insists, and brings up the fact that I haven't had a full day off yet this month, so I agree to it. He and Satya are sharing a paper at the counter when I come back downstairs, dressed to go out with my prosthetic on. I’m a phone call away if they need me. There is about three days left to go before the inspection and we’re as ready as we are going to be.

It’s a nice day out, so I walk and do a bit of window shopping while deciding what to do with myself. A lot of the new stores that have opened up recently tend to cater to a younger crowd, but are slower now with all the students gone. I consider calling Lena to hang out, but then I remember that she had plans for the night. Probably sick of seeing my face anyway. Hm, who else?

The phone rings five times, and I nearly hang up before its answered by a groggy voice.

“ _Moshi_?”

“Uh, hello? Genji?”

“ _No, this is Hanzo_.”

I look down at my phone. _Shimada, Hanzo_ , is right under _Shimada, Genji_. Eh why not. “Hey, actually I was... Out. Today. And if you were free… I mean you aren't working, so did you want to hang out? Today. With me?”

“ _..._ ” The silence drags on a bit. I check that the call hasn’t dropped. “ _Did you have an activity in mind_?”

“Yeah! There is a weekend farmers market that I like to catch when I can.. There’s a park nearby, and some nice places to get lunch. They make real sweat tea, with boiled sugar and everything.”

“ _Very well. I will text you my address. I expect you at 12:30._ ”

“Ok, great! I’ll see you then!”

Wait. What just-My phone vibrates with an incoming text.

_Shimada, Hanzo: 12_ _th_ _and Pearl St., the Redwood apartments unit 104. Sent at 12:14 pm._

The only way I’m going to make that in fifteen minutes is if I run. I ran.

Hanzo answers his door in a pair of pajama pants with clouds printed on them and a short robe. His hair is still wet from a shower and his beard looks freshly trimmed.

“I apologize for not being ready. I-” He pauses and takes me in with a thorough glance, “Why are you...”

I heave in another few breaths, trying to appear less winded then I am. “Wasn’t at the cafe.”

“I see. I didn’t think. Please come in while I finish getting ready.”

Hanzo’s apartment is a tiny two room little thing. The kitchen, dining area and living room are all smooshed into one big space when you come in. The door off to the left that must be the bedroom. There is a coffee table with pillows on all four sides, and that does it for furniture.

“Please, have a seat. May I get you some tea while you wait?”

“No, thank you kindly.”

While Hanzo is off putting his face and some clothes on, I take in the rest of the place. A hot plate, a little microwave with the handle duct taped back on, and a rice cooker with a metal pan lid crowded the counter. There are no magnets on the fridge, no take-out menus, no books or TV. Right. Cause Hanzo doesn’t intend to stay. He’s a brother-stealing, fire-setting pest that up and decided to help me write recipes and work dozens of unpaid hours doing my filing. Who may be getting ready to go on a date with me?

“Thank you for waiting. Are you ready to go?”

I whistle appreciatively. Hanzo has on a pair of long, black khakis and a blue polo shirt and his hair is only pulled back halfway, like on the top? He is also sporting a glare and a blush.

“You look, I mean, sorry. You look nice?”

“One of us has to.” He locks up the apartment behind us, then slots his arm through my prosthetic. “Where is this farmers market?”

The farmers market springs up a little off main street where the businesses close on Sunday. Awnings and canopies get thrown up, connecting the buildings and throwing chaotic, multicolored shade on pushcarts, trucks and stalls. At this hour the market is at its peak. People with carts push their way by families with dogs and children running underfoot. There is music coming from somewhere, a guitar and singing competing with dogs barking and the dull roar of crowds.

“This is madness. What could we possibly need here that cannot be more easily obtained in a grocery store?”

“We won’t know till we have ourselves a looksee, darlin’. Let’s go for a stroll.”

We ease into the natural flow of traffic, still arm in arm. I buy a sunhat, a hemp bag, organic homemade sunscreen, one bottle of water at $6 (“ _I refuse to condone this highway robbery. Buy one for yourself if you must_.”), and a Real Authentic Southern sweet tea on our first pass through.

“This cart is offering samples.” Hanzo points to a medium sized cart with hummus, homemade almond butter, and pita bread. We take one of each, eating half, then switching.

“Hm, pretty good. I could make this with the ingredients I already have though, minus the chickpeas. This is pretty standard recipe without any deviations to really make it shine. You could put in some dried peppers or go with a zippier bread.”

“I haven't tried almond butter before. It’s good.” Hanzo picks up one of the jars, contemplating the price.

“What makes it good though?

He takes a good moment to ponder it, really noticing the flavors and taking them apart. “It has a simple flavor, but it isn’t too strong?” He puts the jar back down again.

“Yeah, this one here is pretty much just roasted almonds that have been chopped up. They didn’t take risks with it. You could at least put in a sweetener like dates, or compliment it a touch with coconut oil and cinnamon. I think we can do better.”

Our next stop is a vegetable cart that I spot in the alley between two buildings, a bit out of the way but bigger because of it. They seem to be specializing in Asian produce.

Hanzo lights up seeing it. “Oh, they have maitake mushrooms! No one seems to sell those here.”

“Looks like a pinecone. How’s it taste?”

“They have a much more feathery texture then most mushrooms, and an intense umami flavor. We should take this one.” He hands me a mushroom with abundant tendrilly white pieces. “I have had it served sautéed in oil with garlic, or baked in masago sauce.” We also pick up some bonito flakes, shiso, which is apparently stringing nettles cooler cousin, nori, bok choy, bean sprouts, daikon radish, adorable tiny Japanese eggplant, and some crab cake like tofu snacks to eat as we walk called ganmodoki. Once we move on, we also buy two more bags cause it’s obvious we’re gonna need ‘em.

At about three o’clock, we stop at a cooking demo to rest our feet awhile. Gratuitous sampling has made stopping for lunch unnecessary, but we have a lot of fun with it. I lend Hanzo my hat, which he uses as a fan. We have accumulated some summer strawberries, lentils, cauliflower, kale, okra, two kinds of heirloom tomatoes, Chinese cabbage, cucumber, and seven types of homemade cheese. Hanzo has taken to collecting all of the brochures and info cards.

We kibitz shamelessly on the cooking show. Hanzo looks genuinely proud at how well he is able to follow along, and I resign myself to buying some of the cooking knives that they are shilling.

“This is too expensive for knives!”

“All good cooking knife sets are going to be expensive Hanzo.”

“I, that is, I do not have enough to-”

“I wasn’t saying you should buy em. Let me get them for you.” The kid behind the table has moved on to help another customer while we argue.

“It would be a waste. I do not know how much longer I will be in the States and I would have no use for them at home. I am sure the family cook has her own tools.”

“Oh. Right.” Hanzo isn’t staying. After a few moments of awkward silence, we leave without the knives. The distance between us as we walk is because we both have full bags. The sun finally is no longer directly overhead, and the breeze picks up.

“Jesse.”

“Hm?”

“Nothing. Look, this stand has a lot of Spanish produce.”

“Oh yeah, I always stop here. _Hola,_ _qué hay?_ ” Our last stop loads us up with a few kinds of dried peppers, a bag of maize flour, summer corn, a jar of sundried tomatoes, and a stack of tamale husks with spices.

We walk back to Hanzo’s apartment and sit down on his little coffee table. We take our haul out of the bags and begin to divvy it up.

“I would offer to cook, but uh.” I begin, but trail off as I look at his kitchen.

“Yes, it’s going to be a challenge to find ways to prepare all of this with my limited tools.” Hanzo puts two of the eggplants in my pile.

“You could always come over and use my kitchen or Genji’s. Did you want… that is, I could make dinner for me and you. Later. Like, not tonight later but soon?”

“I believe it is my turn to decide on the date activity, is it not? But yes, I would enjoy eating something that you had made for me again. And...a movie?”

“Yeah! That sounds good. Great. Good. Later this week. I’ll see when we are both free.”

We finish bagging up the rest of what I’ll be taking home, and Hanzo walks me to the door.

“One moment. I’ve forgotten something.”

I turn back to ask, and suddenly Hanzo is close. Hand on my chest. He raises up on his toes. I meet him halfway. The kiss is soft, slow, and my hands are both full but Hanzo makes the best of it by pressing as close as he wants on his own.

“Good night, Jesse.”

“G’night, sweetpea.”

~~~~

That night, I make dinner using some of the ingredients I had bought, then sit in front of the TV. I contemplate texting Genji. _Hey, heads up, I took your brother out cause I called him thinking he was you and we had a good time then he kissed me and I liked it._ I have my phone in hand when it lights up with an incoming call.

“Hello?”

“ _Hey Jesse_.”

“Hey Gabe!” I sit forward in my chair and turn the volume down. We met when I first got into town all those years ago. He was my case manager at the VA. Jack is his ‘it’s complicated’. “You musta have heard I was taking a day off! Did you want me to come by you and Jack’s place tonight?”

“ _No, actually, we were thinking of heading over there_.” He doesn’t sound to enthused about it. My anxiety starts to flare up and I tell it to piss off. “ _Listen--_ ”

“Ah, it’s no trouble, you know, if you want to come-”

“ _Shut your mouth, I said listen. Shit. That’s not_.” I hear Jack in the background offer to take the phone “ _No, I’m doing it! Fuck, fine. Look. You know we still get the paper_ _cause_ _Jack is a fossil_.”

“Ok.” Anxiety says ‘I told you so’. That’s not a good news tone of voice.

“ _It’s not true, so I don’t want you to go out and do anything stupid, mijo_.”

“ _Just tell him you’re dragging it out!_ ”

“ _I am telling him! There was a review in the paper. For the Deadeye_.”

“...” They told me to take a day off. They were looking at the paper.

“ _I know what you are thinking. Don’t read it! Ok? You don’t need to read it. Just, they talk about where you were before the army and make some baseless conjectures_ _cause of t_ _hat, and a few of the people you have working for you have had similar records. That tiny Japanese guy still working for you? He had green hair last I saw him_.”

“Genji. Yeah.”

“ _Ah. Ok, well we are gonna come over tonight and we’ll talk about things_.”

“ _Gabe, ask him how he’s doing he_ -” Jack sounds pretty upset. I feel like I should be upset. I was. Now it’s all a bit fuzzy.

“ _I ain’t gonna waste my breath. I know how he’s doing. You!_ ” That’s me. “ _Park your ass till I get there, you hear me?_ ”

“Yeah.”

I blink. My cell shows that the call has been disconnected. Gabe doesn’t have the best phone manners. I’m already sitting, so I stay there. The TV is buzzing lowly with voices, mixing together with those from downstairs. I don’t try to pick out individuals, just let it wash over me. Time passes.

It’s bad.

Lena is yelling at someone on the phone. The local paper maybe? When did Lena get here? The Sunday crowd is about eighty percent regulars, and they all come over to the table Gabe, Jack, Winston and I are sharing to voice their support. Jack does a lot of the talking.

Unsanitary kitchen. Infestations. Drug deals condoned by management. Undocumented workers, and insinuations about the fact that so many people of color work here. Well, that last one is true. People who bring that up get to talk to Gabe instead.

I should do something. The kitchen needs to be clean for the inspection. I fill up a bucket, get the steel wool. Kneeling on the floor to start cleaning between the tiles, I run into a problem. I can’t hold myself up and scrub at the same time with just one hand. It’s stupid. A stupid thing to start crying over. I try my best anyway, shoulder burning with effort, ignoring my sobs. They’ll stop on their own.

~~~~

 

_Hanzo: My shift tomorrow has been canceled. Do you know why? McCree isn’t answering his phone._

 

_Genji: everyone’s shifts have been canceled we’re closed for a day_

 

_Hanzo: ?_

 

_Genji: dunno I heard it from Lena Jesse isn’t here he is staying at Gabe and Jack’s_

 

_Hanzo: I’m outside. Let me in._

 

_Genji: did you know you sound like a jerk when you use punctuation in texts?_

 

“Ok, so why are you here?” Genji is wearing the bunny rabbit and carrot PJ’s Hana gave him for Christmas when he opens the back door. It beeps twice before he keys in the code to turn off the alarm.

 

“To take advantage of an opportunity. As you said, McCree is not here and no one will be here tomorrow. You are coming with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, leave me a comment or come say hi on tumblr at gnomeicecream.tumblr.com
> 
> Self Destruct: Bubblegum cake with marshmallow frosting, coconut and jelly beans  
> RIP-Tire: Mocha chocolate chip macaroon with red hot candy  
> Sound Barrier: Caramel and cherry ice cream on shortcake  
> 


	5. Blizzard, Barrage, Tesla

“This is the most disappointing kidnapping I have ever been party to.” Genji says.

I don’t bother looking up from his pilfered cell phone, group chat open. Messages from the other employees pop up almost faster than they can be read. Satya has more then come through on last minute advice. There are secrets and mysteries innumerable of the cleaning arts that I have only just begun to learn. Bleach can be used for many things beyond removing forensic evidence.

“You forget that I know you, brother. This is the only kidnapping you have ever been party to.”

“And it’s the worst! You could have done all this on your own.”

“That isn’t true. I need you-"

“Aww, Nii san thats-”

“-I do not have a credit card.”

“...You suck.”

Acquiring funds was only one of many hurdles to be cleared in what I could admit to myself was a symbolic, pointless gesture. There was also the challenge of finding shops in a town of this size that carried the specialty products I required. Industry sized dry storage bins with secure locking mechanisms. Hazardous chemical disposal units with proper and obvious signage to match. It is more than the cafe truly needs to be code compliant, as it had passed inspection without them before. But there was a small bluebell flower hanging to dry in the window of my bedroom, swaying in the breeze and coloring the sunlight blue.

Time grows short. Shopping takes longer than anyone would have liked, but many local shops were closed on a Sunday night and thus a good deal of Monday was spent coordinating people with cars to destinations as far as the Restaurant Stock and Supply in the next state. Dr. Winston has sent out a message to all other available staff to report to the cafe and the new appliances and bins are swapped in. Walls and floors, unexposed to the light of day for years, meet the cruel steel of wirebrushes. Unsold bakery goods are ‘thrown out’ which mostly means eaten on the sly or given away. Tuesday comes, and there is one day remaining before inspection.

The staff discuss among themselves who will be there on the 19th. The day of reckoning. Those who will not be working then take the two shifts for Tuesday. Lena and Winston both are shoo ins by seniority. Satya and I both silently agree that it is better to prepare as thoroughly as possible and allow others to execute perfectly formulated plans. And without Jesse, who has yet to return, it falls to me to make the daily specials.

Quietly, the cafe opens.

Genji goes upstairs with Hana to spend the day resting, or more likely playing video games over the complimentary WiFi. Lucio and Satya make a truce over their historical animosity, loyalty to the cafe greater then old grudges for a day, and customers trickle in. The kitchen requires little management yet remains busy with the specialty orders needing to be made but oven time is also required for loaves to go out and dough needing to be minded so as not to over-rise and additional stock needing to be made to replace what had been discarded due to the day we were closed so it goes and goes until it is no longer Lucio who is running back orders but Reinhardt, who shouldn’t even be working today but is apparently the first and only half of the evening shift.

I do not even need to be in the front to hear his booming voice greeting each customer. The dinner rush does not deserve the name with only handfuls of customers coming in. The Amari’s inquire after Jesse’s absence, who habitually serves them their asbusa cookies. I had felt strangely nostalgic over the smell of chamomile and sugar as I made that special. It was the first Jesse had taught me and I did my best to embrace its lessons. Don’t think, feel. I added the chamomile petals by hand, unknowing of their exact measure. There was an excitement to be found in the small, harmless experiment, the outcome unknown.

At nine, Reinhardt closes the front door, sets the lock. There is no real cleaning left to be done but the forms are observed with broom and mop and rag. He departs, wishes us the best of luck and promises to come by after the inspection is over. Then it is only me, in the dim light of the streetlights through the window and red glow of the espresso machine readout. There is nothing left to be done. Time is up.

 

\---

 

Genji’s alarm sounds at 5 am. I reach out to tap it silent, resting in bed only a moment before steps one two three for getting ready begin clamoring for attention in my mind. Out of bed, shake Genji and Hana awake the first time, shower and brush teeth, shake awake second time, make breakfast with coffee and a high amount of carbs and proteins for a busy day. Push Genji into bathroom and get dressed. Push Hana into bathroom and supervise Genji’s grooming while cleaning breakfast dishes. We arrive downstairs ten minutes prior to six. Barely on time.

Where is Jesse?

We open. The ovens get set to warm while I review the plan for the day. Two difficult specials and one easy. There are no special orders for the day. Fresh baked goods go on trays arranged with care. The muffins go out on decorated plates. Its seven. Coffee rush begins and breakfast items disappear at an anticipated rate. Its eight and the true breakfast rush begins. Where is Jesse? A new tray of eclairs comes out of the chiller, a fresh batch going in to firm with time to spare before the first tray of the day is depleted. At 11, Lena and Winston arrive and Jesse does not. Dough for feteer goes into the stand mixer to knead. The bell rings and the low buzz of conversation from the front stops.

They are here. Where is Jesse? Winston speaks, his soft baritone indistinct but recognizable. Another voice answers. Feminine. Accented. Will she start in the front? Or do I have time for one last check? I don’t, the peanut butter banana bread needs to come out of the oven now. Once it is on the cooling rack, the dough has to come off the hook and be divided and then set to rest. She must be doing the front first. The back door slams.

I turn. Jesse is there with two other men. I feel a stab of panic in every nerve in my body.

“Clothes! Hands! Shoes!” None of these people are inspection ready! “What do you think you are wearing, Jesse McCree?! Go go go, there is no time! GO!” They are trying to speak but I can’t afford to take time to listen. “Hairnet, no hat, brush under nails, shave or a beardnet, go!”

They go.

Finally. Jesse is here.

 

–

It takes less than an hour, and Jesse is only present for the last twenty minutes of it. Our official results will come in the mail within three business days but for now we are handed a pink piece of paper identical to the checklist now hanging in the office. Our inspector was a French woman in a three piece business suit with purple heels and lipstick. She smiled and laughed at Winston’s jokes and was the soul of professionalism. She met my eyes, once and briefly. I knew. It was my fault.

“This is a mistake.” Lena sounds incredulous. And it is true. There is visible proof before our eyes that some of the marks we had missed were in order.

“There has to be an appeal process, right?” Winston is trying to get ahead on the surging emotional response from the rest of the employees. Its only natural that tensions should be high. They were going to loose their livelihoods. It was my fault.

Genji and Hana and Lucio are upstairs. I wonder if he knows as well. Maybe he is packing. He should be, if he cares about his friends.

I sit to the side, listening but not a part of the conversation. I acquired tea at some point, the heat in my hands a lone point of feeling over the numbness creeping over my brain, like spider legs. 

Another body drops into a chair to my left, cutting off the late afternoon sunlight.

“Hey, sweetpea.” The setting sun completes his look, the backlight throwing his face into the gentlest shadows while setting his hair aglow.

I swallow, throat sore with contained emotion. “McCree.”

“Ah...I guess you are a bit upset with me, I kinda figured. I’m real sorry. I was in a bad way.” He takes a sip of his own drink. The ceramic makes a small grinding noise against the table as he shifts the mug in circles.

“I understand. I apologize. I-”

“What? No! I’m the one who’s-I wanted to thank you honey! You got this place running smoother then it ever has, and you even were able to take over the kitchen while I-Ya know. I owe you more’n I could say.”

It’s my fault, my fault, my fault.

“I quit.”

“….You quit what?”

“Thank you for everything, but I no longer-”

“Now hold on!”

“-going to stay in the States-”

“What the hell baby what this isn’t your fault-

“IT IS!”

My mug punctuates the sentence by shattering against the far wall where I had thrown it. I gasp in a breath. Hands over my face. No one else is talking anymore.

“Ok, ok honey, I need you to breath for me ok? Just like I am.” Gentle hands over my shoulders, turning my body into Jesse’s. I can feel his breaths, long and exaggerated. There is to much static in my head to do more then match them. My face is hidden in the crook of his shoulder, large hands gently kneading my neck.

“There you go pumpkin. It’ll be ok. Lets put some food in you then take a nap, ok? You’ll feel better. And don’t worry to much, yesterday this was me, so ain’t nobody judging you for being a bit out of sorts.”

I am given something to eat, the taste of sweet spicy nutty penetrating the fog, and Jesse pushes until I drink a mug of hot chocolate and a red blanket garment had appeared from somewhere over my shoulders.

“I don’t deserve this please. Stop.”

“Look here son.” I look. The blond one is named Jack. He was here last week. “One of the things about going through something traumatic is, you want to take control of things that are uncontrollable. Or you just plain think you aren't worth the work it takes to recover. That’s when its a good time to listen to the people who care about you. Cause they know it’s not a matter of deserving, when it comes to giving love. Not like that, anyway.”

“I am exhausted...and well, I guess no one is working till this whole thing gets sorted out. Gabe can you-” Jesse stands, and his arm around me means I stand as well.

“Yeah I’ll handle things down here for now. I’ve arranged a meeting with a lawyer for tomorrow, so I’ll meet you here at nine.”

We go upstairs. Genji is talking with Hana and Lucio still, but it’s quiet otherwise. Not packing then. Selfish fool.

But maybe, just for tonight, I could be selfish to.

“Jesse. I don’t want to be alone.”

“Ok sweetpea. Then you won’t be.” We undress, unselfconcious in the need to be close to one another. Soft kisses meet soft kisses, hands meet bare skin. We fall into bed, draw the covers over ourselves. The feeling between us simmers with each exploring touch, but never boils over. Caresses taper off into gentle petting, then sleep.

Sweetpea has always meant goodbye.

–

The next morning, we sleep in because there is no work to be up for. Jesse makes a breakfast of omelets and french toast that we share in the late morning sunshine before he heads downstairs to make his meeting. My clothes are three days old at this point, so I acquiesce to being dressed in his. It makes him smile, and we share a brief peck of a kiss before he leaves.

“For luck.” He winks, and is gone, and I have full run of both his apartment and Genji’s if I wanted to. Not yet. My interlude of selfishness isn't over yet. And then it is.

My phone rings with an unknown number.

“Hanzo Shimada speaking.”

“Master Shimada. Thank you for taking my call. I understand that circumstances for you have been trying.” The voice is feminine. Accented. The inspector. Of course.

“The elders of your clan believed actions needed to be taken. I am sure you understand. The solution to this problem is simple. Next week, there is a flight direct to Tokyo at 6am. You and the other Mr. Shimada will be on it. Later that day, I will do another inspection of that cafe, and find that I made a terrible mistake. The paper will print a retraction of that erroneous review. Or, you could not be on that plane..” She allows the implications to speak for themselves.

“Jesse has nothing to do with this! I was, I-” I flounder. I can’t say I had a plan to bring Genji home beyond a nebulous ‘stay nearby and remain insistent’ but...I had been distracted. By that job. By Jesse. Perhaps this intervention was necessary.

“McCree will be left alone entirely, Master Shimada, once you are gone. I am sure there are preparations you must make to be ready for your trip. I’ll leave you to them. I apologize for this inconvenience. Good day.”

I thumb the disconnect call icon and watch as the light turns dim, then black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flower meanings:  
> Sweetpea: Departure (western) and Goodbye (hanakotoba)
> 
> Blizzard: Cinnamon tapioca pudding stuffed eclairs with chocolate chips  
> Barrage: Feteer filled with feta honey custard and fig jam, topped with powdered sugar  
> Tesla: Banana peanut butter bread loaf
> 
> Resurrect: Lemon poppyseed strudel topped with crushed almond and pecan  
> Whole Hog: Canadian and American bacon, prosciutto and mozzarella florentine quiche  
> Or vegetarian option: 4 cheese floretine tomatoe basil  
> Helix: Pumpkin cream cheese filled carrot cake with fudge swirls.  
> Energy Ball: Oatmeal orange zest and cranberry donut hole  
> Molten Core: Paczki filled with spiced raisons and orange cream.  
> Widows Kiss: Crème brule with minced black liquorish  
> Protein Cannon: Peach cranberry and apple medley cheesecake with coconut gram cracker crust


End file.
